


Sleepless Nights and Singing Spies

by CaptainRilee



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, FIx It, fuck it I just needed to write, seriously vaughn what the fuck, tried to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 02:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRilee/pseuds/CaptainRilee
Summary: She’d accused him of tracking her sleep patterns and timing the exact dips in her rem-cycle for optimal opportunity of midnight shags. He denied such slander and explained that such talents were not the product of calculations...merely of study.Merlin has a strangely familiar nightmare. Roxy helps out.





	Sleepless Nights and Singing Spies

She was pulled from her dreams insistently but with a gentleness that, somehow, never left her cross. Merlin was very good at it. It was a slow knowledge of waking that brought her naturally out of sleep without being jarring. She’d accused him of tracking her sleep patterns and timing the exact dips in her rem-cycle for optimal opportunity of midnight shags. He denied such slander and explained that such talents were not the product of calculations...merely of study. She had definitely smothered him with a pillow for that one.

His arm was wrapped around her torso, palm lined across the flare of her rib cage, pinned between her body and the mattress, fingers clinging to her side. He pressed against the length of her, his face into her neck. He breathed deeply, long drawn breaths that pushed his chest into her spine.

She stretched against him. Merlin at her back was a damn secure feeling, both in the field and the bedroom but this felt... _different_. She felt cagey and pinned in the vise of his grip. It loosened reluctantly as she turned to face him, his arm falling to the well of her waist, his thumb pressed into the divot of her hip.

“Hey…” she whispered, slow from sleep. She blinked at him blearily, pushing away the fatigue so she could focus on him properly, despite the darkness. She reached up, brushing her fingers across his chin, the stubbly texture of his nightly beard scratched pleasantly at her knuckles. She bypassed this and draped her hand around his neck. That’s when she felt it.

He was clammy, a thin sheen of sweat covered his skin. Now that she was looking for it, she could feel it on the sheets, on his hand at her hip.

She could hardly see his face. “Are you alright?” she asked. The curtains were draw against the wild October cold snap that surprised them all, the only light was from the soft glow of the power socket charging their phones.

His entire frame was pulled tight has a rubber band ready to snap. “I--it was terrible.”

Her brow furrowed in concern. “Nightmare?” She drew her hand down his back, grounding him, a straight line down his spine, applying as much pressure as she could manage in her sleep weak state. “We’re right here. What happened?”

He pulled a deep breath through his nose, steadying himself, “There was an explosion...I was _singing_.” The sheer surprise in his voice was audible.

Despite the gravity of the moment, a curious smile slipped across her lips. “You... _sing_? Truly?”

She could feel him smile, despite himself, “It’s been known to happen occasionally….it was _Country Road_ …”

She was waking more and more by the minute and each new piece of information was an utter delight. “The rocky mountain Colorado guy? John Dreamer, an _American_?” she gasped in horror, “Merlin, how could you?”

“ _Denver_ , actually. I’ve always been fond of that song…” his voice became far away, “I died singing it…”

She swept her hand across his brow, smoothing the furrow she knew would be there, even if she couldn’t see it.  “We’re right here.”

He nearly choked on his words, “He--Harry was alive.”

Her breath caught, “Oh Merlin.”

His grip tightened on her hip. He bowed his head, lightly bumping into hers. “And you…” he swallowed audibly, voice thick, “you were _dead_.”

The cold shiver that ran through her was a shock, “Jesus _Christ…_ ”

She pulled him closer, but it was impossible, instead she wrapped her legs around his calves. Rolling back she pulled him with her, welcoming him to the cradle of her hips and threaded her arms around his ribs.

His oldest friend: _living_ . His lover: _dead_. What an awful inverse universe.

His lips found her cheek, her throat, her collarbone, his long length curled around her frame, “It was too terrible to contemplate alone.”

Roxy glanced at the window, it was still too dark to be anywhere near morning. She didn’t care. She untangled their limbs and pulled him along, abandoning their nest. She kept him close, murmuring softly, “Come on then, I have just the thing.”

Going back to sleep wasn’t an option. The kind of dreams that turned Merlin into a cagey mess were not to be dismissed with a yawn and a fresh pillow. He was a man of details, the simple fact that he gave no further information was alarming in itself.

She crowded him, bumping her knees into his legs when he was upright, herding him to the bathroom.  He obeyed with only mild protests which she ignored. The bathroom had no windows and she didn’t want to spoil their eyes with the harsh bathroom lights. She reached around the back of the toilet for the matches she kept stashed there and lit the candle on the sideboard. Turning back, she looked into his face for the first time that night.

The soft light played at the light sheen of sweat on his skin. His brow was furrowed in concern, likely residual anxiety from the dream, despite her efforts. His mouth was a thin line, _embarrassment_ , but his eyes were the worst. Shadowed and unrested, pained, they drank her in like she might crumble in a cloud of dust.

She kept hold of his hand and reached across him to the shower. She turned the spray on full and kept it hot.

Roxy stepped in close leaning against him, allowing her weight to settle against his frame. His arms came around her, one hand at her back, the other in her hair, huge hands splayed wide like they wanted to carry her, keep her feet from touching the tainted earth.

She wound her hands around his waist, fingers sliding up the back of his shirt, absently counting the knobs of his spine. Her other hand followed the progress, carving a path up to his shoulders. She pulled insistently and, with reluctance, he raised his arms and pulled the shirt off the rest of the way. Like a magnet his hands returned to their original position, anchored to her skin and hair.

Hers strayed, they wandered back to his front, pressing into his stomach and lining his rib cage, mapping the expanse of his chest.

“Help me with mine, would you?” she asked softly, encouraging him. Slowly, his hands moved to the hem of her nightshirt, relishing the luxury of her skin and its warmth. She raised her arms and he pulled it from her. As her shirt cleared her chin he reached in, cradling the back of her neck before her hair fell to curtain it .

Without looking down she reached out to his trousers, sliding them from his hips to fall at his feet. She reached around and grasped his wrist at her back.

“Come on then.” She guided his hand down her side to her pants.

His eyes roamed her face, his nails dragging deliciously across her scalp. He slid one finger into the band of her pants, he plucked it with a snap against her skin. She flicked his navel in retribution and he huffed a laugh.

“Like you mean it, you tart,” she scolded. He tugged gently at her hair and she smiled softly.

The shower was scorching. Fog gathered across the mirror and soft billows of steam ventured out of safety of the stall and batted at their skin. Her toes were chilled even as her fingers warmed with the moisture.

He released her hair, running his hand down her shoulder, thumb tracing her collarbone one moment, his palm cradling her elbow the next. Reaching her waist, he hooked his fingers beneath the band of her pants and pulled. Her remaining clothing dropped to the floor. They both stepped out of their offending garments and into the shower.

Merlin reached out and turned the water down to a more temperate heat. Roxy plucked up the mouthwash on the wash stand and took a shot. Handing it off to Merlin she made thorough work of her teeth with her tongue and spat out the offensive mixture in the general direction of the shower drain. He mimicked her and replaced the bottle on the wash stand.

She was already reaching for him when he turned back. He leaned down and their lips met in an insistent longing that was not to be denied. She pressed him back into the spray and he shivered at the heat on his clammy skin. She nipped at his lip and ran her hands along his back, palming the muscles knotted and tense along his spine.

He groaned at the work of her hands. They pulled, pressed and stretched muscles that had knotted themselves in horror at the phantoms in his dreams. He had no idea what sick misfire in his brain dreamed up exploding mansions and hot jungles, but it was one more thing to add to the list of ways Roxy was not allowed to die.

His shoulders began to droop, woozy from the warmth. His hands loosened, he’d refused to let them shake and he no longer felt the whisper of it in his bones. The weight of her hands lightened and changed texture, they were suddenly very slippery. He opened his eyes, not realizing he had shut them in the first place and found her lathering soap in her hands and running it across his skin. There was the sharp tang of eucalyptus and something softer...lavender.

In that moment, his love for her ached like a phantom limb. 

His knees hit the floor and he pressed his face to the softness of her belly. His hands dropped to her legs, tracing the knob of her ankle, the bow string of her Achilles tendon, following the line of her calf, his hand nearly spanning their diameter, palming the hard muscle of her thighs.

Her hands dropped to his collar, kneading the slope of his shoulders up the back of his neck, stacking her hands one on top of the other, curling around his spine. She pressed her lips to the crown of his head and sighed into his wandering hands.

Her soft humming filled the air, then she was singing softly, “Oh Lord, Oh Lord I’m begging you please, don’t take that sinner from me...Oh, don’t take that sinner from me.”

**Author's Note:**

> The song she's singing is "Devil's Backbone" by The Civil Wars. It always felt very appropriate for Kingsman, somehow.


End file.
